Summary

The part Crowley couldn’t bear, the very worst part, was that it was all his fault.

And not in that stupid self-flagellating ‘oh wah this random series of events is all my fault’ way. In the very literal ‘I made a horrible mistake and now someone I care about is suffering because of what I very directly and specifically did’ way.

But to see it, to understand how badly he had fucked up, you had to start at the beginning.

Fill for the prompt: 'hedonists with no foresight decide to torture an angel for funsies'-- but in their case, their comeuppance isn't blind justice enacted by the universe, but very, very particular justice enacted by Crowley, who's come to get his angel back

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Summary

No one lives on that island anymore. They say it drives you mad. They say it feels lonely, melancholy, and that you find yourself standing on the cliff edge at strange times in the night, staring down at the rocks.

There’s a ginger cat, people say. You catch glimpses of her, just out of the corner of your eye, a flash of tail or whisker. She’s a fairy, they say, or a sprite in disguise - she won’t hurt you, but you shouldn’t try to look directly at her.

The veil is thin on that island, people say. The mist can reveal the other side of what you see, and if you aren’t careful you could be lost to the wrong side.

Summary

It’s the trial of the century: bestselling mystery author Anthony Crowley stands accused of poisoning his former lover. He’s got means (arsenic), motive (the breakup), and opportunity (a meeting the night of the murder); his guilt seems certain.

Certain, that is, to everyone except Lord Aziraphale Eastgate, rare book collector and amateur detective. Aziraphale’s not sure why he’s so convinced of Crowley’s innocence, but he’s determined to save him from the gallows--by finding the real murderer before it’s too late.

Summary

"They'll leave us alone. For a bit."

One year after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale have settled into a new routine: keeping an eye on supernatural happenings in the world and preventing Heaven or Hell from interfering too much with humanity. It's not a bad job - despite occasional rains of fish - and if there are some unspoken things they really ought to talk about, well, they have all the time in the world now to get around to that, right?

At least, until the Archangel Raphael turns up on their doorstep looking for help... and it starts to become clear that the world is changing fast, and so are they.

Or: Crowley and Aziraphale start a detective agency. Shenanigans ensue. Slowburn continues. Apparently, there is plot. I have some thoughts about Heaven, Hell, and humanism. There will be stupid jokes and a healthy sprinkling of angst.

Summary

Crowley’s lips quivered. With his eyes hidden, Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back a smile or a frown. “God’s wounds, angel, I suppose I have no choice.”

“No choice in what, exactly?” said Aziraphale, trying not to be offended at the curse. Crowley was far too good at puffing up his feathers, as it were. “Don’t be cryptic, my dear. It doesn’t suit you.”

Crowley let out a long breath through his nose. “Well, come on, then,” he said, and yanked Aziraphale by the arm down the nearest side street.

(On a certain day in 1601, Aziraphale finds out about Crowley's less-than-savory hobbies. The knowledge has an unexpected effect on him.)

Summary

Crowley and Aziraphale are two mutants trying to keep a low profile in London. But when the head of the Tadfield Institute, Anathema Device, has a vision of Apocalypse rising, they are drawn into a fight to save the world.

Or, an AU in which Crowley and Aziraphale have powers, and so does everybody else. Shenanigans ensue. Familiarity with X-Men is not required for this slowburn!

Summary

Anthony J. Crowley is a newly-ex mob member, who, after being beaten senseless and running for his life from his former cohorts, stumbles into the bookshop of one Mr. Aziraphale. Where he was expecting to be thrown into the street, he instead finds himself taken under the wing of this kind stranger - after all, he really has nowhere else to go, does he?